


I See You Left Your Blinker On

by reliablemachine



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Eames bringing out the slut in Arthur, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2020-01-24 05:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliablemachine/pseuds/reliablemachine
Summary: Prompt: Eames fucks Arthur in the backseat of a car.





	I See You Left Your Blinker On

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/9742.html?thread=19824142#t19824142) prompt on the kink meme: "Eames fucks Arthur in the backseat of a car."  
> Um, it's pretty self-explanatory, lol. I have other things in progress but I just opened my bookmarked To Fill prompts and chose one randomly and it was this, so there ya go.

Jobs generally go well for Arthur, and he's not bragging or anything but he likes to attribute that level of success and reliability to his staunch attitude towards professionalism and preparedness — he works hard, _really_ hard, he always has, and it has always paid off in the end, and that always makes it worth it for him.

Every so often, though, an extraction will go balls-up at the last second, or something will mess up and the entire thing will be awry from the get-go.

Tonight is one such job.

Arthur's not entirely blaming Eames for how completely chaotic everything is right now, but if he hadn't changed his mind at the last second about what hair colour he thought the mark liked best, maybe a waiter projection wouldn't have noticed the tall, slender blonde becoming a tall, slender redhead mid-stride, and then maybe Arthur's path of escape he'd so carefully plotted out wouldn't have been blocked by seven restaurant security guards without warning (and really, since when do restaurants, even dream restaurants, have security guards?).

What he's really saying is that hindsight is 20/20 and that Eames's fickle-mindedness may or may not be the reason Arthur is currently vaulting over a chain link fence in waking life, in an attempt to outrun the three very real security guards who showed up when their mark started screaming.

Arthur doesn't know where Eames is now, or Fincher, the extractor Arthur's been working with lately; last he saw them, Fincher was running down a hallway away from the screaming mark, and Eames was punching said mark in the cheek to make him shut up then Arthur thinks he disappeared out a window, possibly onto a fire escape.

Arthur had scrambled to shove the IV lines back into the PASIV as quickly as possible, order be damned right now, and had shot down the stairs and through a kitchen, whereupon the guards had taken chase.

Arthur hates manhandling the PASIV — despite the sturdy steel case, it's a very delicate piece of technology, and it's like his baby; he maintains it and takes care of it and makes sure it always has enough spare parts tucked away inside just in case, and there's a dark smudge of dirt or something right across the top of the case that makes him wrinkle his nose even as he's running for his life.

He has no idea where he is besides that he's at the edge of a forest and running through someone's backyard, heading either towards the city or deeper into the suburb, he's not really sure. He knows he has to find somewhere to hide, though, then he'll need to get in touch with the others once the PASIV is safe, and possibly organize a rescue mission, and jesus, he hates when these things happen.

He almost trips over a big stone urn next to someone's back porch, but manages to duck around a house then double back and crawl under another porch, hidden by the shadows in the already pitch-black night. One thing suburbs are useful for: terrible street lights that make it easy to slink around, even with a glinting metal briefcase under his arm.

He hears rustling down the street as one or more of the guards rushes out from between two houses and jogs up and down the street, looking for him, and he creeps backwards as far as he can go, crouched down with the PASIV between his knees.

He's probably trespassing on some animal's nest, the cobwebs under here are terrible and make him feel disgusting, and his abs burn from hauling himself over fences, but then the sound of footsteps recedes.

He waits for at least half an hour, maybe more, fighting off the urge to sneeze or scrub at his face forever to get the nasty, sticky cobwebs out of his hair, then finds a chunk of concrete from the porch and throws it out past the bushes onto the front lawn. Nothing happens, but Arthur waits another five minutes just to be safe, and when no one comes rushing into his hiding spot with a gun, he crawls out slowly, keeps low as he scans the street, but there's no one.

He sticks close to the houses anyway, keeping in cover of darkness, and ducks down the sides of them every time a car rolls past, but ultimately he makes it into town (Somehow… He hates subdivisions) and slips into a 24-hour McDonald's to get his bearings.

When he pulls out his phone, he realises he has three texts from Fincher and one from Eames — they must have made it out all right, then — and he orders some fries to avoid suspicion from the cashiers, then heads into the washroom and locks himself in one of the stalls and eats his fries as he scrolls through his phone.

_"Text me when you get this, this is fucked up I'm at the place where you got that french CD that one time"_ from Fincher; _"Ignore my last text they must have followed me, I'm going to The Parkway fpr a bit until they stop"_ from Fincher; _"Arthur did you die"_ also from Fincher; _"always getting us into trouble pet"_ from Eames, and Arthur fumes silently.

Arthur chooses not to respond, perhaps wisely, and eats his fries in silence, PASIV resting neatly on its side between his feet on the floor, then he heads out and is just about to call a cab when a dark gray sedan pulls up and _Eames_ of all people leans across to roll down the passenger side window.

"How much?" he asks, and Arthur glares at him then climbs in and leans back to set the PASIV carefully on the back seat.

"That was a right cock-up," says Eames as they pull away, and Arthur sighs.

"No thanks to you, asshole."

"Now, now, I do recall a certain fair-skinned point man being quite adamant that the subject preferred blondes."

"Yeah, because he _does_ , and even if you hadn't switched in front of the entire fucking restaurant, he probably wouldn't have fallen for it."

Eames shakes his head but there's a cocky smirk on his face and it makes Arthur seethe, so he decides to text Fincher back and harp on him for taking such a terrible job.

They don't have a headquarters here in Erie, not anymore — Arthur burned all incriminating files and evidence, then bleached the entire place to get rid of any DNA — but Eames seems to have some kind of destination in mind as he drives, so Arthur doesn't question him, just keeps messing around on his phone and trying to calm his nerves.

They're not completely safe yet, and he'll need to pull an all-nighter to do research and try to find out if the mark discovered who they are, and from there, well… He'll figure it out.

Arthur does have a hotel room downtown but Arthur knows, and he knows Eames knows, that it's not safe to go back just yet. He locked his laptop in the safe in another room he broke into last night so even if they get into his room, they won't find anything, or that's the plan anyway.

_"Where ar e you and have you heard from Eames?"_ Fincher texts, and Arthur types back, thumbs fumbling on the tiny keyboard in the dark.

_"Yeah I'm in a magically available and possibly stolen honda civic with him right now, find somewhere to stay and we'll meet you tomorrow"_ he sends, then stuffs his phone in the inside pocket on his jacket and slouches down in the passenger seat.

They drive for a long time, stopping once at a gas station where Arthur refuels while Eames goes inside to buy cigarettes and a chocolate bar, then they switch places without a word, so Arthur's driving, and Eames puts his feet up on the dash and messes with the radio, much to Arthur's annoyance.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Arthur's eyes are starting to get glassy but he's afraid to blink in case they don't open again. Eames pokes him in the side and he pulls off at the next exit, then down a side-road into a heavily wooded area and parks on the side of the road.

"I guess we're staying here tonight," he says, stifling a yawn, and Eames gets out to go take a piss behind a tree or have a cigarette or something.

Arthur climbs across the center console into the passenger seat while Eames is outside, and tilts the back down as far as it can go and settles in, tries to make himself as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances.

When Eames gets back, he makes a _tsk_ noise but Arthur ignores him, then he climbs into the back and kicks Arthur's head rest (probably on purpose) before toeing off his shoes and unbuckling his pants and _jesus_ , Arthur frowns at the sound of a belt buckle rattling, and crosses his arms.

"Are you seriously getting naked? What if we have to make a quick getaway?"

Eames chortles quietly, the sound of fabric scraping across the stubble on his cheeks muffling his voice, and says, "Don't you worry about me," but Arthur's still dubious.

Arthur squirms around in his seat for what seems like ages, unable to get comfortable, and peering out the windows and windshield into the dark woods. He's slept in a car before, but never immediately after almost getting killed / potentially caught and tortured, never with Eames, and never in the middle of a creepy-ass forest in the middle of the night.

He starts to feel a bit antsy, and thinks he sees things moving around outside the car, shrinks down in his seat, and eyes the doors to make sure they're all locked, and when something snaps nearby outside he almost jumps.

"Eames," he hisses, voice low and pupils huge as he stares outside and tries to adjust to the dark. " _Eames_ , are you awake?"

"Mm…"

"I think there's something outside."

"It's a wood, Arthur, there're probably lots of things in it."

Arthur puts his face right against the glass and stares out at the trees, but he can't see anything, then something snaps again and he shrinks down instinctively.

"We can switch places if you like," Eames offers from the back, on his side away from Arthur with his face pressed into the back of the seat, but Arthur frowns some more, then undoes his shoes carefully and climbs through the center of the car, and sits on Eames's feet.

"Mm, not really made for two, but if that's what you want," Eames murmurs, and draws his knees up, but Arthur spreads himself out alongside Eames, facing away from him, and bracing himself with one arm against the back of the driver's seat.

"Arthurrr," Eames purrs as he rubs his shoulder blades against Arthur's back. "I never knew you were into cuddling."

"Shut up, it's because of you we're here."

"That's debatable—"

"Eames."

Eames doesn't say anymore words, but he certainly doesn't shut up, breathing loudly and making irritatingly enticing noises as he shifts around, rolls so his chest is against Arthur's back, and Arthur feels fingers touching his hip gently after a few minutes, and rolls his eyes.

Arthur tells himself he's only back here because he's had a rough day — the job was two parts, the first occurring early this morning while the mark was at a dentist appointment, dream a cold, frozen wasteland surrounded by ice and water, and the second occurring this evening, dream an upper-class restaurant where Eames totally fucked them over — but really, Eames is very warm and firm behind him and listening to his ridiculous mouth noises is making Arthur forget about whatever creepy things are lurking around outside the car.

Then Eames shifts behind him and Arthur feels what is most definitely a hard-on poking him in the back of the thigh.

"Eames…" he sighs, and Eames makes a noncommittal _nmm_ noise, Arthur feels hot breath on the back of his neck, and suddenly he's acutely aware of the situation he's gotten himself into and what it will most definitely lead to.

He and Eames have had… moments… in the past — moments between jobs usually, or sometimes during the preliminary stages of Arthur's research, when Eames is absolutely insufferable and won't leave him alone, and Arthur's fucked him just to get him to shut up — and Arthur wants to just climb back into the front seat, he really does, but Eames is so _warm_ and the front is so lonely and besides, he's lower when he's lying down back here, so if there really is something outside, it's less likely to see him. Maybe.

Eames becomes slightly more insistent, moving subtly behind Arthur and breathing across his cheek and in his hair, calloused fingers pulling Arthur's shirt out from its place tucked under his belt, and pushing themselves around on his skin under his sweater and across the edge of Arthur's waistband.

"Eames…" he says again, but it's less of a warning this time and more of a confirmation, if he's honest, and he feels soft lips on the back of his neck and it makes his forearms sprout goosebumps and stirs heat in the pit of his stomach.

“Mmhm?” Eames says, though it’s not much of an answer, and Arthur pushes on the back of the driver seat and flattens his back against Eames’s chest, gets his fly opened in response, and more lips, moving across his neck to his earlobe.

“What if we have to—”

“Make a quick getaway, I know, I’ve already thought of that and I’ve decided there’s absolutely no way anyone will find us out here considering we drove for a total of three and a half hours and are parked in the middle of a bloody wood,” Eames murmurs into Arthur’s skin, and Arthur feels his ears heat up, but he supposes it’s true after all, or probably so.

He closes his eyes and wiggles against the seat until his pants slide down over his hips, feels Eames moving around behind him then he leans forward between the seats and rifles in the center console, bare skin of his thighs against Arthur’s own, and when he settles back down, he has a condom.

“Where the fuck do you keep getting things? Whose car is this anyway?” Arthur demands, but Eames just smiles down at him mischievously, in that way he does, and Arthur has a feeling someone back in Erie is going to wake up tomorrow and find their driveway surprisingly empty.

Arthur watches over his shoulder, then rolls onto his back as Eames pushes his boxerbriefs down past his knees then pulls Arthur’s trousers off the rest of the way and, at a glare from their owner, folds them in half then in half again and sets them in the front, passenger side.

“Just so you know, this is a terrible idea,” Arthur asserts, and Eames lifts his knees and gets down between Arthur’s legs, looms over him and breathes in his face, all old cigarettes and the chocolate he ate earlier.

“Yes, you keep telling me that,” he says, and kisses Arthur’s cheek down to his ear. “Yet you’re still here.”

“Only because whatever’s outside will tear my legs off and I don’t have a gun.” Arthur’s argument is completely valid in his head but Eames looks skeptical and amused.

“You’re so charming when you’re about to get fucked,” says Eames, voice a low growl in Arthur’s ear, and Arthur’s instantly rock solid, cock straining against his briefs, aching for Eames to touch it, but Eames skirts away, barely brushing against Arthur, expression still entertained but hard, focused entirely on Arthur’s exposed neck dipping down into his jumper.

Arthur sighs loudly and arches, sticks his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and pulls them off, lifting one leg to free it then wrapping it up around Eames’s waist. Eames has the poorer footing at the moment, balancing on his knees, one arm stretched out above Arthur to hold onto the door at his head, and the other jerking himself stiff then rolling the condom on, mouth barely open and still making those fucking distracting noises.

It’s a little awkward, but they shift around until Eames can get down close enough, then he presses into Arthur slowly, coaxing him open little by little with the lube from the condom, and Arthur drapes his left leg over into the front seat to give him more room, other leg still hooked on Eames’s hip.

Eames says something that sounds like _“fucking tight”_ but it’s right in Arthur’s ear and muffled by the sharp breaths Eames keeps letting out so he can’t be sure, but then Eames is all the way in him, and Arthur feels a bit light-headed even though he’s already lying down.

This is messed up, he decides, screwing in the backseat of a probably-stolen car in the middle of the woods after being chased around a suburb and out of town by a bunch of thug bodyguards. Then again, he’d completely forgotten about the creepy forest until just now, so perhaps Eames’s possibly-misguided plan is working after all.

He doesn’t have a chance to start getting creeped out again, because Eames hooks his elbows under Arthur’s knees and leans forward, almost lifting Arthur’s lower half off the seat as he thrusts into him, and his face is utter concentration now, staring down at Arthur’s face and watching for reactions to different angles and speeds, but Arthur doesn’t even care at this point, anything is amazing.

A low moan escapes when Eames tilts his hips and Arthur holds one arm against the back of the driver seat again, the other curled around Eames’s arm, fingers pressing into his shoulder and bicep as Eames licks his lips and continues with those ceaseless sex noises that make Arthur so excited.

“This is a—uhh... a terrible, horrible idea and whuhh— we’re going to get killed and die in the forest,” Arthur stammers.

“Uh huh,” Eames says into his mouth and Arthur’s voice stops working, just spouts nonsense swear words and noises amid harders and yeah?s.

Eames shifts again, gets up on his knees and pulls Arthur as close as he can get, right up on his lap. He has to hunch over a bit, hair still brushing the roof of the car and sticking up every time he moves, but then he must get a good foothold on the floor because he grips Arthur’s hips hard and goes to town on Arthur, screwing him into the upholstery, Arthur’s head hitting the door gently every time.

Arthur gropes for his own cock in the dark, the only light that of the moon, filtering between the trees and in through the windshield, turning one side of Eames’s face pale blue and casting Arthur’s flushed neck dark purple, and finally he grabs himself, jerks urgently in time with Eames’s thrusts, and soon he’s coming, partially on his sweater, but he doesn’t even notice, just keeps going, muscles tightening then slackening, legs falling open on either side of Eames.

Eames exhales loudly and buries himself deep in Arthur when he comes a few minutes later, thumbs still pressed into Arthur’s hip bones and stomach muscles moving in and out as he pants softly.

“Well...” he says after he’s had a chance to compose himself, and Arthur agrees silently and pouts a little when Eames pulls out slowly, then rolls onto his side, face pressed into the seat back, and Eames settles down behind him again, skin hot against Arthur’s, and lips on the back of his neck, not even kissing, just touching.

Tomorrow they’ll have to drive back to Erie to find Fincher and retrieve their stuff from the hotel, then there’ll be hell when Arthur has to delve back into his research, and failing this job means none of them get paid, but none of that even crosses through Arthur’s mind right now, as he lies squished between the seat and Eames.

He doesn’t even notice when another twig snaps outside.


End file.
